


just a fool (a fool in love)

by returnsandreturns



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 10:10:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19207234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns/pseuds/returnsandreturns
Summary: “You’ve lost your shirt,” Aziraphale says, sounding mostly curious, eyes flitting from Crowley’s chest to his face.“Have I?” Crowley asks.He thought he had a plan—a quite smooth plan, really sexy—about two drinks in but this is drink number four and all he’s done is get partially undressed without any explanation. He’s basically James Bond.





	just a fool (a fool in love)

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of nothing but I write might some porn to go along with it.

“You’ve lost your shirt,” Aziraphale says, sounding mostly curious, eyes flitting from Crowley’s chest to his face.

“Have I?” Crowley asks.

He thought he had a plan—a quite smooth plan, really sexy—about two drinks in but this is drink number four and all he’s done is get partially undressed without any explanation. He’s basically James Bond.

“You have,” Aziraphale says. “Well, not lost—it’s over there.”

He gestures behind them, where Crowley’s shirt is no doubt resting on top of a stack of volumes of  _The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_ that are priced to never sell. He doesn’t bother to turn around and check—it is no doubt on a stack of volumes of something that Crowley doesn’t need to read, having lived through the events of it and come out with far more interesting anecdotes.

He wouldn’t read  _The History Of That Time It Almost Apocalypsed A Week Ago_ , either.

“I run hot,” he says, shrugging.

“I’ll open a window,” Aziraphale says, guilelessly, getting to his feet.

“No, just—” Crowley says, grabbing his wrist. “Hold on, angel. Let me think.”

“Maybe you should sober up,” Aziraphale says, reaching up to brush his fingers over Crowley’s cheek, just for a second. “You  _are_  looking a bit pink.”

Crowley shuts his eyes and takes a shaky breath. 

“ _Angel_ ,” he says again, softly, lacing their fingers together.

“Oh,” Aziraphale says.

His face is soft when Crowley opens his eyes again, looking up at him.

“Oh?” he asks.

Aziraphale squeezes his hand and nods.

“We should sober up and talk, dear,” he says, “but I fear I won’t find the nerve to do this without being–well,  _sloshed–_ and it’s taken you a rather long time, so–hold still, please.” 

"A rather long– _excuse_ me–” Crowley starts, but he’s promptly interrupted by Aziraphale leaning down to take Crowley’s face in his hands and press a soft kiss to his mouth, fingers ghosting through his hair before he stands up again.

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Aziraphale asks.

One of his hands is still curved around Crowley’s cheek.

“More—” Crowley says, ignoring the surge of unescapable romantic feelings inside of him to go for what he’s supposed to want—as a demon and all. Basically a demon, still. Sins of the flesh. Such like. “More this.”

He reaches up to pull Aziraphale down into another kiss, almost surprised when Aziraphale follows the touch willingly, sinking down onto the sofa next to Crowley and making a soft pleased noise when Crowley licks into his mouth.

Crowley hasn’t kissed someone in—a couple of decades, maybe. It’s usually a passing urge with a forgettable human, never more than an hour or so to see if anything’s changed since the last time—it never does but humans are known to make good things better or much, much worse, so it doesn’t hurt to check—before they ask him to take his sunglasses off and he leaves like he’s terribly offended. It’s more than enough.

He’s never all that interested in sex until he is.

“You’re good at this,” he says, realizing it sounds like an accusation, punctuating it with a kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek.

“I’ve been around for quite some time,” Aziraphale says, sitting back to smile at him, looking ruffled and—Crowley will not use the word adorable. They’re grown men—or—men-like creatures, human sized beings who are male by appearance—and he has his limits.

There are several things he’d like to know, including who has touched Aziraphale other than him in descending order by year or perhaps talent, but instead he asks, “This isn’t too—fast for you, then?”

Aziraphale strokes his cheek. It’s obnoxiously tender.

Crowley absolutely doesn’t sigh and he’s never even _heard_ the word lovesick before, nevertheless _felt it._

“I’m not sure what that means anymore,” Aziraphale admits. “Everything’s different now, isn’t it?”

“Essentially, yeah,” Crowley says, and if he were honest, which he rarely is, he would tell Aziraphale that what he’s feeling right now isn’t different at all from what he felt from the very beginning—the actual beginning. Like, Genesis. It’s just easier, maybe, now that they’re free agents. No grand ineffable plan making invisible lines between them. It’s just them and the future stretching out and their feet on solid ground.

Aziraphale studies his face before he stands up, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head, saying, “Get yourself sober, darling. I’ll make tea.”

“Darling,” Crowley mutters.

*

“ _Shake_ speare?” Crowley asks, dropping his spoon so it clatters on the table, sending sugar scattering everywhere.

“Don’t make a fuss over it,” Aziraphale says, primly.

“You fucked _William Shakespeare_ and I’m supposed to not make a fuss!”

“Oh, don’t be crude, either,” Aziraphale says, frowning at him. “You asked me who I’d kissed. You didn’t mention anything about—”

“Fucking,” Crowley says.

“. . .lovemaking,” Aziraphale says, like a challenge, raising his eyebrows.

“Is that what they call it up there?” Crowley asks.

“Well, not if _we_ were the ones involved,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley goes still for a moment before he chokes on a laugh, leaning back in his chair and tilting his head back. When he settles down, he catches Aziraphale looking pleased with himself, although he quickly hides it behind his cup of tea.

“He was—interesting,” Aziraphale says. It sounds diplomatic.

“He was a prick,” Crowley says, “Is what he was.”

“You aren’t wrong,” Aziraphale says, smiling at the table before looking up again. “How long?”

Crowley doesn’t even need him to specify.

“Eden,” he says.

“I thought maybe—well, I didn’t know if you cared for me or hated me,” Aziraphale says, sighing, “because the demon thing was a bit new to all of us and you were an angel once, too, so—I knew you felt _something_. I honestly wasn’t sure what you _could_ feel.”

“We can feel love,” Crowley says, watching the way Aziraphale’s eyebrows raise, the little sharp breath he takes. “Normally, it’s—y’know, loving devising intricate torture methods to further people’s eternal _damnation_ but—well, I’ve never been normal, have I?”

“Never once,” Aziraphale says, softly, smiling, “but—neither have I.”

There’s a long silence where they both sip their tea, sitting their cups down at the same time.

“You love me?” Aziraphale asks.

“Always have,” Crowley says. Being honest is unbearable. He’s not sure what he’s feeling but he imagines it must be what humans feel all of the time. Like he’s very aware of the fact that he has _stuff inside of him_ , even if he doesn’t have much use for it. “It’s inconvenient, to be perfectly honest.”

“I thought for some time that I loved you because I—I wanted to reform you,” Aziraphale says, like he’s in the middle of a thought, “but really there was nothing to reform. You were always good. You just—hid it behind the glasses.”

“Ugh, don’t say that,” Crowley says, groaning. “It’s condescending. I did delightfully horrible things and I won’t have them erased so you can feel good about— _wait_. Wait, you _love_ me?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale says. “I don’t know when it became so _compromising,_ but. . .”

“I’m compromising you?” Crowley asks, grinning.

“Don’t get cocky,” Aziraphale says, but he smiles back.

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on tumblr, having a god's honest meltdown](http://returnsandreturns.tumblr.com)


End file.
